Royally Dead. Greta McKennan

      LYRICAL UNDERGROUND

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

      LYRICAL UNDERGROUND BOOKS are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2018 by Greta McKennan

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

      All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

      Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

      Lyrical Underground and Lyrical Underground logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.

      First Electronic Edition: September 2018

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0170-2

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0170-7

      First Print Edition: September 2018

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0173-3

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0173-1

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      For Mike and Laura, who brought bagpipes and Highland dance into my life,

      and

      In memory of Anne Oliphant McKee, who I called Gran.

      Acknowledgments

      With thanks to Jessica Faust of Bookends Literary, and Martin Biro of Kensington Publishing, without whom Daria’s story would never have been told.

      Chapter 1

      I’d never seen so much plaid in one place. Every booth was festooned with swaths of tartan fabric. Little girls in lace blouses and kicky plaid kilts scurried past me, searching for their dance troupes. Men and women wearing kilts and dress shirts with regimental epaulettes circled up on the edges of the field to tune their bagpipes. Even the lettering on the banner at the entrance to the event was in plaid, welcoming visitors to Laurel Springs’ First Annual Highland Games.

      I was lucky to get a booth at the Games. I thought it would be a great venue to showcase my historical sewing business, A Stitch in Time. I teamed up with Letty Overby, who had an antique shop on the Commons in downtown Laurel Springs. We called our booth, “Scottish Treasures, Old & New.” I doubted Letty’s antiques actually came from Scotland, and my handiwork was obviously made in Pennsylvania, but at least we were faithful to the theme. My handicrafts included fabric bags and placemats in a variety of tartans, an array of bow ties spilling out of a small wooden treasure chest with wrought-iron hinges, and a collection of stuffed Loch Ness monsters under a calligraphied sign that read, “Nessie.” I hung a few traditional women’s skirts and velvet vests along the side of the booth to highlight my skills, with the hope of taking orders for custom-made Scottish apparel. The Laurel Springs Games was early in the competition season, so I stood a good chance of drumming up some business for the rest of the summer. But even if I sold nothing but a few Nessies, I was happy to spend the day in the sunshine surrounded by the sights and sounds of eastern Pennsylvania’s tribute to its Scottish heritage.

      Letty’s wares included an assortment of glassware and silver jewelry on a long table on the other side of the booth, piles of delicate embroidered linens, and a selection of antique dressers and side tables. She had just finished setting up and had disappeared for a cup of coffee when I got my first customer.

      “You got one of these in the McCarthy tartan?” Sean McCarthy leaned on the edge of the folding table that displayed my handicrafts, to focus his camera lens on a single bow tie in the distinctive red, green, and yellow of the Royal Stewart tartan. I caught the flash of joy and wonder on his face as he turned the lens ever so slightly to bring the image into focus, working his magic with the camera. He never got tired of that moment of revelation, and I never got tired of watching him.

      “Sorry, no McCarthy tartan. It’s an Irish name, you know. We’re pure Scots today.”

      He straightened up and grinned at me, his eyes crinkling up in his tanned face. “Ah, so Daria Dembrowski is pure Scottish, right?”

      I couldn’t help laughing. “Well, she’s selling the Scottish stuff anyway, handmade in Laurel Springs, Pennsylvania.” I eyed his white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “A tartan bow tie would put you in the mood while you take your pictures for the newspaper. How about the Dress MacLeod? It’s the only yellow one in my book.” I handed him a tie with a yellow and black pattern shot through with red and pointed to the picture in my handy Guide to the Clans and Tartans of Scotland booklet.

      He turned it over dubiously. “Can’t say I’ve ever worn a bow tie before.”

      I took it from him and slid the ribbons under his collar, brushing aside his dark blond ponytail to adjust the catch in the back. “They’re better than neckties because they come pre-tied. There. Now you’ll fit right in, despite your Irish name.”

      He peered at his reflection in the tabletop mirror next to the chest of bow ties. “I look like a walking advertisement for A Stitch in Time’s Scottish line.” He handed me his camera. “Go ahead, get a picture. I don’t promise to wear it all day, though.”

      I adjusted the focus, like he’d taught me, and snapped